


My nights with the Potters

by hauntedpoem



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Aurors, Best Friends, Cross-Generation Relationship, Divorced Harry, Family Dinners, Fluff and Humor, Grimmauld Place, Lils and Scor are BFFs, Lots of Food, M/M, One Shot, POV First Person, Scorp has a thing for Mr Potter, Scorpius and Albus are work partners, Scrorpius Malfoy POV, Secret Relationship, dirty socks, mentions of food, middle aged Harry, mundane tasks, post- The Cursed Child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 23:26:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9571583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedpoem/pseuds/hauntedpoem
Summary: Scorpius is good at keeping secrets. He's also very good at noticing stuff. The only problem is that since he accidentally found out about Al's affair with Malfoy senior, all he can think of is seducing Harry Potter. It's not revenge, it's knowing what you want and how to get it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set after the events of Cursed Child. Years after, to be more specific. The idea was to write something tame enough in Scorpius' POV.  
> -  
> Enjoy!

This story isn't about me. No, maybe it is, a little. I feel like I have to put this on paper because… well… it's important. I have to do this before I obliviate myself. Just the knowledge of it is burdensome.

  
***  
This evening, I'm eating at the Potters. It's the usual. Mr. Potter is busy setting the table while we step out of the grand chimney. I brush the _floo_ powder off my shoulders while Albus mutters something about a shower, too annoyed with the torn sleeve of his robes. He’s pretty awful at mending charms but somehow he mastered cleaning ones.

 All I know is that I'm starving and even reheated stew from Al's grandma is better than an empty stomach. I mean, don't get me wrong, her stew is fabulous. It's just... not posh, not expensive, ten Galleon perfection. It's still perfectly cooked food, just right to feed a working man's stomach and ease his heart and make him ask for seconds.

  
Today, it's not leftovers, though.

  
"Boys, you should wash your hands first," Mr. Potter cautions but there's no force to his tone. He just sounds tired. Calling us _boys_ when we're well past majority... it's just his way of showing that he still thinks of us as children.   
He looks tired and because Al can be so oblivious at times, I take the lead, spewing pleasantries so that Mr. Potter feels less like he doesn't do enough. He does enough, I want to tell him but I am afraid I will sound like a nosy git, too young to understand life's subtleties or worse... That I end up sounding just like my father. I don't want to bring that image up, especially not to Mr. Potter, not when there is enough history between the two of them.

  
I take my robe off and cast a quick _Scourgify_ and a pressing charm on it before sending it on the coat rack in the hallway. Albus takes his time with cleaning charms. Unlike him, I was lucky not to fall into a vampire's crypt because his robe is filthy.

  
I sigh and I think I look presentable enough in my gray slacks and blue shirt. Surreptitiously, I cast a refreshing charm just to be sure I’m not offending anyone. My skin tingles as the after effects disperse. My hair falls into place, my skin feels drier, I know I don't smell like putrefaction and dirt, _thank Merlin_! That would put off even a troll.

  
"Good evening, Mr. Potter!" I break the silence and ignore Al's attempt to cast a sewing charm on his shirt. His _dragonhide_ boots, on the other hand are squeaky clean. I go on, it’s only polite.

  
"Gerhard Crowley gave us this… _assignment_.” If that’s what one calls a death sentence in a high profile vampire den. “Rosegrave." Mr. Potter gives a tight smile at the news. Strangely, doesn't look me in the eye.

 "How was your day, Mr. Potter?"  
This is a ritual of ours. We make small talk while Al makes himself presentable. As working partners, he's the one that goes head first while I do damage control and save his arse. How _Slytherin_ of me, right?

  
"My day was like any other day, Scorp. I'm getting old and stuck with mountains of paperwork. I just hope your career choices will prove less birocratic than mine."

He chuckles and moves back to check the stove. "It seems like you had quite a bit of action today, if I'm not mistaken. Just... Don't let yourself get dragged by the mirage of it. _Auror, Unspeakable, Healer, Advocate, Curse breaker_... They all have their ups and downs."

His eyes are green, green as wormwood potion when he turns and looks at me.  _Finally_. His gaze searches for something but I quiet down. I try to appear reassuring and confident. Everything's fine, it’s under control. Today no one was about to die. No, not  _his_  son. I made sure of that.

  
"Shit! No!" It's Al, who almost got tangled in his black and blue outer robe. "Who designed these things had no idea about practicality!"

  
Mr. Potter looks at his son but says nothing. I guess he decided to stop lecturing Albus about language a long time ago, maybe even before our sixth year at Hogwarts. I don't know whether the divorce changed that in him but... maybe he left the urge to always be in control when he divorced Ginny Weasley.

  
"I made some pasta with lots of cheese. We have spinach leaves, tomatoes...  parmesan. More cheese. Oh, look, this one has holes in it! And ermm… basil leaves." He smiles awkwardly at me. "I just... thought that… you know…"  
"I know, Mr. Potter. Looks delicious, smells delicious." 

  
I just want to spare him the awkwardness.

The last thing he needs is to explain himself to an inexperienced twenty year old  _and_  a Malfoy. He exhales and I like to imagine he's grateful for that. For sparing him the useless chattering.

  
"Mmm... dad! Dinner smells promising!" It’s Al, from the hallway. I hear a few muffled curses at the robes.

“I’ll help you, Mr. Potter.”

  
I try to be appreciative but honestly, even stale bread would satisfy me at the moment.  
"Albie sent his Patronus a couple of hours ago. Told me you're coming..." His voice trails and I know, as he ladles pasta on our plates, that he made this especially for me. Ever since Al told him I liked pasta and pizza. Come on, now! I haven’t met a person to hate pasta or pizza.

  
He's done it all without a house-elf or magic and it's simply amazing.   
"Thank you, Mr. Potter." I want to tell him that I'm grateful. He's always so thoughtful, always paying attention to what I say, always trying to include me. We do dinner preparations the _muggle_ way. 

  
I reach for the cutlery drawer and he says "Get another one, there’ll be four of us tonight."  
From the hallway, I hear Albus scourging my boots as well but mine are not that dirty.   
" _Scourgify_  Scorpius' boots!"  
He says it twice, louder. I don't know what he's implying by that and I don't feel offended in the least. I’m squeaky clean. However, I appreciate the gesture. He is my best friend; I expect nothing less from him. He descends into the kitchen area and looks forlorn as he watches his dad getting up close and personal with pots and pans.

  
"I'm taking a shower." He murmurs and his dad doesn't say anything.

"Is Lils here as well? Her flats are here."

  
"Yeah, she's in her room, upstairs. She'll be joining us soon when she finishes with those _Teen Witch_ magazines of hers."

  
Al practically turns to leave, his awful robe bunched in his hands. Now I notice he's got dried blood on his jeans.

  
I head to the small alcove where with the help of Luna Lovegood, Mr. Potter arranged for an eating room. This area used to be where the house elves who catered day and night to the Black family here at Grimmauld 12. Now it looks cosy and pleasant, not austere and foreboding.

I finish placing cutlery at the table and then I open the cupboard to take some glasses. I place them neatly over silver embroidered serviettes. Black inheritance, I suppose. I get busy doing it the muggle way.

 Some of the elves’ residual magic tends to interact badly with my own. Last time I attempted it, I shattered two sets of plates. It was a good thing that Albie had the presence of mind to order some Chinese.

***

  
The house of my ancestors, at least on my paternal grandmother's part, is still a bit intimidating but ever since he moved here, Mr. Potter practically transformed the place. We usually eat here, near the kitchen but sometimes, on special occasions, we use the grand dining room. Sometimes he hires elves from Hogwarts to offer their service and sometimes he uses magic to send the plates upstairs.

I don’t know when I became part of the Potters. Must have been the sixth year when Albus practically dragged me everywhere with him.

 The small eating room used to belong to the elves, and it's perfect for us. It has vibrant cobalt blue walls, light furniture, a homey feel. The horrendous elf bone chandelier has been replaced with a brass one and Mr. Potter added more wall lamps. It imitates _muggle_ homes.

  
"Water? Juice? _Butterbeer_?" My tone is casual. And there in a whisper directed to Mr. Potter's ears only, I add "Brandy? Wine?"

  
"Pumpkin juice," he answers, his tone amused. "There's a pitcher in the fridge. I have some _butterbeers_ , just three, though."

  
And I understand. "Three's fine. I'll share with Al."

  
"Share what with me?" Says Albus and I realise he's changed into a pair of slim black cotton joggers and a teal long sleeve. _Muggle_ clothes. Sometimes I forget how relaxed he looks, fresh from the shower, his pale freckled skin glowing. 

  
"I see you've already taken a shower, Albie." His father's eyes flicker to where Al is seated at the round table. 

  
"Well, Rosegrave wasn't the kind of place I would have chosen, not even for a mock investigation... I wouldn't want Lils to remark upon my less than pleasant smell."

  
"I see Scorp here didn't have the same problem," his words hang in the air but there's no chiding to them.

  
"Well, I was watching Al's back. We lost footing and fell into one of the crypts. We had the whole place marked and monitored before starting out operation. Two new hideouts.  Dirty as hell. Full of bones."

“Human?”

We’re going to eat. I don’t know if I should describe to him exactly what we saw.

“… We didn’t identify them… yet.”

 I check the oven. Something is baking there and Mr. Potter just takes a seat and lets me to take control of dinner preparations for a moment. Quiche. Smells fantastic. I guess another five minutes won't harm it.

  
"Will you call Lily downstairs?" He says to no one in particular but just then, the sound of footsteps on creaky floorboards greets us.

  
"Evening." She says, her voice soft with sleep.

  
"Did you doze off, princess?" Mr. Potter asks. She gives him a look.  
She's in her last year at Hogwarts and home for the weekend.

  
"Mmm. Smells good, daddy!"

  
She kisses Albus from the back and twines her arms around his wiry frame, smooching him and tugging at the towel resting on his damp hair. "You smell nice, Sev." She inhales and lets her hair cascade on his shoulder.

“Hi there, Scor,” she purrs at me. Her voice is breathy, girly. _Too_ breathy. _Flirty_. She sits in her chair. Her dress rides up as she crosses her legs. I can see the skin of her thighs. She touches me lightly with her foot and if it weren’t for Al and Mr. Potter I might make an inappropriate comment.

“How’s work?” Lily wears green mid thigh stockings . I know perfectly well what she’s doing.  Trying to irritate Mr. Potter.

I look at her meaningfully.  _What are you doing, Lils?_ I feel like screaming at her.

Even Al notices it. He sniggers.  Mr. Potter ignores it. It’s futile.

“Lily, help me with something in the kitchen.”

“Daaad… Don’t be ridiculous! You know I am absolutely mad about tall, cute blonds but Scor’s like a brother to me.” She winks at me as she fastidiously unfolds the serviette and places it on her thighs. “Right, Scor?”

“Yeah, right.” Then, to Mr. Potter.  “We’re best friends.”

We eat in silence until Albie decides that the whole situation is quite amusing. “I liked it more when I was your only best friend.” Snorting pumpkin juice, spilling his food more than once. Mr. Potter hides a snigger of his own.

“There, daddy. It wasn’t so bad. You know I can’t be your little girl forever…”

***

Me and Lils talk. We’re friends. She isn’t like Rose, thank Merlin! She’s like a sister to me, even though sometimes undressing in front of me still has _certain_ … _unwanted_ effects. No matter how many times I tell her not to do it, she’s too obstinate and always laughs in my face about it. “Get used to it, Scor!”

 We have a midnight chat in her room.

Mr. Potter barges in two times in a row. Every time, Lily yells at him “Dad, learn how to knock!”

I suspect he thinks we’re doing something behind his back. I get it, he’s worried, but all he manages to see is me and Lils playing exploding snap and looking ridiculous with our faces smudged with soot.

“Daaad!” Lily’s voice is dragged out, as if she’s exhausted. “You were friends with Hermione. I’m friends with Scorp. See? Same thing.”

“We’re sharing secrets.” I add.

Mr. Potter gives me a look.

 When I leave her room, I bump into him.

 It’s not accidental.

He says _thank you for being Lily’s friend_ and pats my shoulder. I say _it’s fine_ and touch his arm. I look at him, I want him to really see me. I say _good night_.

He’s so handsome when he blushes.

I know I shouldn’t say this or think this. I can only write it because it’s strange and difficult even for me. What am I?

I think I’m bi. And I have this…  _thing_  for Mr. Potter. I hide it well, though.

***

Three AM. I woke up with a jolt. Bad dream. I fumble for my wand and straighten my pyjamas. Albie’s next door. I knock. I wait. I enter.

Albie’s not there. The bed is unmade and clothes are strewn everywhere. There’s a faint light coming from the bathroom. His owl, Spigget is asleep by the window. There’s _floo_ powder everywhere. You see, Al’s got his private _floo network_. It’s also something he used to brag about.

“Al, you git!”

 He’s gone. And wherever he is, he’s without me.

***

We all thought it was _a witch_. At least that was Lily’s theory. When he graced us with his presence just in time for breakfast with the Potters and me, it was already 9 AM.

“Missed me?” He kisses Lily on the forehead. Mr. Potter is leafing through the Prophet’s weekend edition.

 _Where were you last night._ He doesn’t say it, though.

“Bring the kettle, take a seat.” His voice is dry.

“I swear she’s not married, dad.” Lily laughs hysterically. For some stupid reason I join in. Mr. Potter tries to keep a serious face. He gives in. His glasses are askew and he fans himself with the Prophet.

*** 

The only problem is that Albus has been fucking my dad. For the past five months… he’d been sneaking around and into my father’s bed. I don’t know the _details_. So don’t ask.

I found out later, in February. Not by snooping around, just accidentally. It didn’t help Albie’s cause. Almost all of their meetings took place at our house in London. Finding his favourite blue socks with golden snitches in between our sofa seats, taking a better look at how the glasses were placed in the cupboard in _zigzag_ , father’s new penchant for vegan chilli, custard cream and treacle tart.  

Then, there was the incriminatory steak, and father is vegetarian. You could say it was all… tangential but treacle tart is a thing so…  _Potter_  that father would never buy it for himself.

Anyway, I cringe when I remember. Albie’s dirty socks in between the pillows of our pristine couch. Two cartons of Chinese. Black strands of hair. Condom wrappers. In between our couch seats _.  Bloody condom wrappers!_  I had to vanish them all, minus the socks. I’ll place those under Al’s pillow.

What was he thinking, sleeping with my dad? The utter tit.

 

*** 

What am I going to do, you might ask.

_What am I going to do?_

 I might burn these pages as well because all that I’ve been thinking these past two weeks in between office hours, running after unregistered magical creatures and family dinners – Albie made chilli- is how much I’d like to do the same with Mr. Potter.

I'll have to start by cooking dinner next time before Mr. Potter comes from the ministry. I know his favourite dessert is treacle tart and he'll eat anything that reminds him of his Hogwarts days. Then, I'll have to shoo Albie away but I have a feeling he'll disappear on his own and straight into my father's bed. Or our couch, which I'll have to _Scourgify_ myself. Then, I'll have to find the best Malfoy wine.

The last thing on my to-do list is starting a conversation with Mr. Potter which doesn't revolve around working at the ministry, catching bad guys or the weather.

 It won’t be easy.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Food plays a huge role in this fic. or so I'd like to think. Here are some visuals for [the pasta](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/93/83/96/938396659ed7aa41fa9c159a1115f0cb.jpg), [the veg chilli](http://bigmountainfoods.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/RA-Veggie-Chili.1-copy.jpg), [the infamous treacle tart with ice cream on the side](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/32/24/f4/3224f4ac9b9131c2d971a90cc75ce511.jpg), [the quiche](http://www.chefdoughty.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/right-out-of-oven.jpg).
> 
> -  
> Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated!


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